November 11, 2012

Old is Gold
Image Courtesy: mcht

There’s a woman I love,
Near her I’d feel home;
Greyed hair adorns her mane,
Scarred fingers borne of nails.
Mist of boldness covers her
Scaffolding in leaves of gold;
Pit as patter, her rainy feet,
Swished away life’s dreariness.
Mold as potter’s clay
Her whole speaks of tide’s play;
Skimmed up agelessness,
Bellowed in wild dismay!
Yet her face beget that smile,
That’d leave me to happy heights;
Pray, Lord, fill her with life,
Let me enjoy Grandma’s bribe!

by: Anoop M. Mathew

P.S.: Dedicated to my Grandma Mary
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